[piosenniel]

Arestevana's post

Tarannon II stood with hand on the hilt of the short sword at his waist. His fingers drummed the pommel impatiently. Peering into the leafy darkness of the forest around him, he watched for signs of life. Again he attepted to block out the small noises of the camp several hundred feet away. Unsuccessful, he ventured a few steps forward, trying to shake a growing feeling of uneasiness. He glanced up at the sky, watching a small feather of a cloud skitter across it. He listened to the familiar, if intruding, noises of the camp site...the light steps of his fellow rangers, the crackling of the small fires, small chimes of metal on metal as swordsmen tested their skills. Suddenly the noises changed. A slight decrease in volume, followed by a more substantial increase both in volume and in speed. Tarannon half-turned, hearing voices and movements. He paused, then swung around decisively and headed toward the tents.

Reaching the campsite moments later, Tarannon found it partially disassembled. Listening to the talk around him, he deduced that their assistance in battle was called for. Looking around he caught sight of someone standing at the door to Islist's tent. He looked again. An Elf! Now what's this about? He thought. Edging nearer the tent, he caught a few words from the obviously exhausted messenger. "Lord Aragorn....Pelennor fields....needs your help...." Excitement, a rare if not obsolete emotion in Tarannon, now threatened to overwhelm him. Battle was coming! Battle on the Pelennor fields! He watched as Elleradan joined the messenger at the tent's entrance, the thrill of battle so strong in him that it blocked the man's words, even loud as they were. He did not nedd to hear them to know what they were. Smiling grimly, he reached for his own saddle bags, already packed, and untied his granite-colored stallion. A summons.